A Time for Family
by LaurenOD
Summary: Aloysius Cousland invites some old friends, including Morrigan and their Old God child, to stay with him for the winter festival. Cue the most dysfunctional family reunion in the history of Thedas. Fluff and silliness ensue. M!Cousland/Zevran
1. Chapter 1

I have absolutely no idea if I'll continue this. I really want to. Not to be taken seriously. In the slightest.  
The Andraste joke will be completely lost on anyone not au fait with British current events circa early 2000s. Sorry.

* * *

Aloysius,

I knew giving you that ring was a bad idea.

I thought I made it perfectly clear that this was not going to happen. So please respect my wishes and _leave me alone_.

M

* * *

Dear Morrigan,

Shan't. Listen, I'm not asking much here. I don't know whether I'm developing a paternal instinct or whether I've just mellowed but I want to see my child. I think that's a reasonable request.

Much love,

The Hero of Ferelden

* * *

Aloysius,

Five years and you're still signing off your letters that way? How pathetic.

And the answer is still no.

M

* * *

Dear insufferable marsh-witch,

It was sarcasm, dear. I think you're well acquainted with the concept.

It's not like I'm asking for joint custody, Morrigan, I'd just like to get acquainted with the little blighter.

If you keep putting me out like this I'll end up like that poor sod who dressed up like Andraste and scaled the palace wall.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Aloysius Cousland, Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, etc.

PS Did you notice my pun? I was quite proud of it.

* * *

Aloysius,

You promised me you wouldn't do this. Leave me be, I mean it.

M

* * *

Morrigan,

I killed your mother for you, you blasted witch.

Listen, Zev and I have been talking and we'd really love it if you'd join us for Winterval. It would only be a couple of days and then I'd leave you alone, I swear to you. Come on. It'll be fun. Like the old days.

Hugs and kisses,

Aloysius

* * *

Aloysius,

The assassin hasn't killed you yet then? Pity.

M

* * *

Darling Morrigan,

Obviously not.

Morrigan if you don't come and stay with us for Winterval I will tell Leliana exactly where you are and inform her that you're _dying_ for a makeover.

Ta-ta for now,

Aloysius

* * *

Damn you to hell. Well played, Cousland.

Very well. We shall stay for your ridiculous festival and no longer. Then you leave me alone. Agreed?

M

* * *

Morrigan,

Agreed.

I look forward to meeting my son.

Yours until the end of time,

Aloysius

* * *

Aloysius,

Who said it was a son?

M

* * *

Thanks for reading. Do let me know if I should continue.


	2. Chapter 2

Looks like I will be continuing after all. I've always been fond of the idea that after a life of murder and seduction Zevran would find domesticity wonderfully novel and settle down very well in a housewife role.

* * *

When the landlord had shown them the apartment for the first time, he had but one glowing compliment for it.

"Well, it's not the Alienage."

True enough, certainly, but it was making a valiant effort to imitate it. It was tiny, cramped and filthy, with mildew growing in the corners and what seemed to be a small army of cockroaches infesting the kitchen. It certainly was not a home befitting Aloysius Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, respected member of the nobility...

He had hesitated for all of ten seconds before handing over the first month's rent.

Within a fortnight the mildew was all but gone and the cockroaches were finally retreating, although Aloysius resolutely insisted it would have taken less effort to push the darkspawn back into the Deep Roads. It was a far cry from the estate where he had spent most of his life- Maker's mercy, it was a far cry from Flemeth's hovel- but over time he grew fond of their little hell hole, and on Winterval Eve he felt more affection towards it than ever before.

He had spent the morning draped languidly over the armchair by the window, watching snowflakes drift lazily earthwards from a steel-coloured sky. The square was bustling with shoppers and traders alike, all taking advantage of the last market day before the holiday. How strange, Aloysius thought, that the next day it would be empty, and all those people milling about in the slush would be sitting in the homes of their loved ones, gorged on rich food and copious amounts of alcohol. Wonderful!

The spirit of the festival season was all around him. Most specifically it was above him, where the familiar muffled yells and painfully creaking floorboards betrayed that Mr. and Mrs. Upstairs were having an unsurprising pre-Winterval row. After almost a year of the racket Aloysius wasn't entirely certain he'd feel comfortable living somewhere where the ceiling didn't emit stifled obscenities around the clock.

Never mind that it was sometime in mid-morning. Aloysius wanted to go to bed. The heat from the oven was radiating through the whole apartment, lulling him into a drowsy haze, and the glass of mulled wine steaming in his hand wasn't helping matters along either. In fact, the only thing keeping him awake was the violent somersaults his heart was performing every minute or so when he remembered who would be arriving at his door very shortly.

Morrigan would have been terrifying enough on her own. After all, he hadn't seen the woman for five years, and their history had been turbulent to say the least. But she was bringing her child- _his _child. Their child. Their child that he had never met. Their child that he had never met harbouring the soul of an Old God. Suddenly his phenomenal brainwave seemed like the worst idea in history.

Taking a heavy gulp of wine, he adjusted his position in the armchair and made an attempt to forget about the whole fiasco- a task which proved futile when three pointed raps were struck out against the door. He froze like a startled rabbit, hoping that if he ignored it it might go away. When the knocks came again, harder this time, he concurred that if that technique hadn't worked with the Blight it probably wouldn't work now either. Feeling inhumanly queasy, he got to his unsteady feet and went to answer the door.

When he swung the it back on its creaking hinges a large part of him was dying for it to be his landlord with an untimely eviction notice- sod it, the Crows with a death warrant, swarms of undead, the Archdemon, Anora, _anything_.

But no, he came face to face with Morrigan instead.

He could not say accurately that the years had been good to her, for they seemingly hadn't touched her at all. In fact she would have looked exactly the same as when he had seen her last, were it not for the bizarre sack of a dress she was wearing in place of her usual patchwork robes, a monstrosity more at home on a revered mother than a witch of the wilds.

"What in all of Thedas were you wearing?" his strangled voice finally managed. _Oh, brilliant start. Give the man a medal_.

"Already you shatter my doubts, Aloysius. I am _so_ glad I decided to see you after all," Morrigan scowled.

"Sorry. Sorry. Let's try again. Morrigan! Hello, you look wonderful, how have you been, do come in…" he trailed off, smiling weakly. The desperation oozing from him was tangible. In truth he was stalling, putting off the inevitable moment when he would tilt his chin down and…

_Maker's Breath…_

She was a tiny scrap of a thing, wrapped in layers of furs, standing close against her mother's waist- and did she ever look like her mother. The same ivory skin, the same dark waterfall of hair, the same searching eyes. Those eyes surveyed him now, with none of the shyness or hesitance he had been expecting. The child observed him curiously, as one might upon stumbling across some ancient artefact. Seemingly satisfied with her inspection, the girl looked back up at Morrigan.

"This is my father then, mother?" she asked, the precocious tone of her voice juxtaposing strangely with its childish pitch.

"'Tis indeed," Morrigan sighed.

"Hello…" Aloysius said faintly. _Maker's mercy. _He realised then that he hadn't thought to ask the child's name. His own flesh and blood and he didn't know her name. He looked up at Morrigan imploringly.

Morrigan sniffed disdainfully and looked him dead in the eyes. "Her name is Eleanor."

"Eleanor?" he breathed. He would never have imagined Morrigan to honour him so. But the woman had always possessed a remarkable talent for surprising him.

"Yes," Morrigan broke her stare to roll her eyes. "I felt that if she were never to meet her father she should have something of his legacy, at least. If I'd have known in advance of course that her father would be such a persistent _fool_ I would have chosen something more fitting."

"If you were even thinking about calling her Flemeth then my legacy has done a great service," Aloysius sneered, beginning to feel a little more himself.

Morrigan folded her arms across her chest and made scoffed at him.

It was then that Aloysius realised he had entirely run out of things to say, and that the three of them could potentially stay frozen in that doorway, in a perpetual state of awkwardness, until the end of time.

Thankfully Eleanor showed herself to be the most mature and practical of the trio by suggesting casually that they go inside. Her parents- _well that was a strange notion_- followed her, Aloysius carrying the sparse luggage that they had brought with them.

When they reached the door to the kitchen Aloysius stopped them suddenly.

"Ah, I should probably warn you… Zev and I have been very busy these last few years, travelling and whatnot, and this is the first time he's ever actually celebrated Winterval. He's gotten quite, er… _enthusiastic_. You might want to prepare yourself."

"Oh, wonderful," Morrigan frowned.

As if on cue Zevran burst out into the hallway, bedecked in red and gold and beaming with all the excitable naivety of a very small child.

"Morrigan! A pleasure to see you again. I mean that quite literally of course my dear, you look utterly divine as always," Zevran smiled sincerely at her, but placed a vaguely possessive hand in the small of Aloysius's back as he did so.

"Yes yes, elf, and I'm not _entirely_ perturbed that the Warden hasn't cut you down yet," Morrigan sniffed.

"Coming from you, my dear? I am deeply flattered. And who is this charming creature?" Zevran turned to Eleanor.

"I'm… Eleanor?" she said warily, raising her thin eyebrows at him.

"I am honoured," he bowed his head to her. "Come. Come! There is more wine in the kitchen. Unfortunately I cannot join you just yet, there is more food to prepare than I care to mention. And I am afraid we do not have a tree either, it was not feasible, but we do have a rather spectacularly decorated pot plant if you are interested…" Aloysius thought his Antivan lilt even more endearing when he was babbling.

Almost as quickly as he had entered Zevran disappeared again to tend to his cooking, the force of the door shutting behind him making the whole house quake.

"Mother, who _is_ that?" Eleanor asked, looking equal parts alarmed and bewildered.

"Excellent," Morrigan sighed. "I thought I had taught her all I knew about human behaviour, and now I have to explain why she has two fathers."

"Morrigan, what you know about human behaviour could fit onto my little finger."

"If you do not silence yourself, Cousland, I shall set this fetid shack ablaze."

Aloysius smiled to himself. It was starting to feel a little like the old days again. Certainly, it was going to be an interesting holiday.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm actually quite digging writing this now, even if I am getting a bit sleep deprived. This part's a strange mixture of fluff and some weird wangsty bits that wormed their way in for no apparent reason. It's more of a link to the main event. Promise it'll get more ridiculous later, all the srs bsns out of the way here. Enjoy :)

OH! As I keep forgetting: BioWare owns it all.

* * *

After fetching a pitcher of fresh wine, delightfully warm and delicately spiced, Aloysius led Morrigan and Eleanor into their living room (which also functioned usefully as a dining room, guest bedroom and occasional toilet when Oghren came to stay). In the context of the apartment it could be considered large, providing just about enough room for a mismatched collection of chairs, end tables and bookshelves, not to mention a space set aside in the corner for-

"Cusìth! Down!"

But it was too late. Already the Mabari had sprung up from his nest of blankets in the corner and pounced on Eleanor, knocking the child clean off her feet and coating her liberally in drool. Aloysius bit down on the back of his hand, waiting for bedlam to break loose and Morrigan to make good on her promise of arson, but to his surprise Eleanor began to giggle under the dog's hairy, hulking frame. Cusìth barked happily, nuzzling the shoulder of the little girl who scratched his belly affectionately.

"Maker, she really has a way with him," Aloysius laughed in relief.

"Are you really surprised?" Morrigan deigned to crack a smile. "Her mother is, after all, a shape shifter."

"Yes. That and she has a big giant dragon trapped inside of her," Aloysius noted. "What? Don't look at me like that, I'm just saying."

"We know little of the effects yes, Aloysius," Morrigan said quietly, fetching a glass from the worn-out dresser and pouring herself an ample measure of wine. "Time will tell."

"Is she a mage?" he asked, cocking his head to one side as he watched Eleanor look carefully into Cusìth's eyes, the dog whimpering quietly in response.

"I am not sure yet," Morrigan took a sip from her goblet and stared down at the liquid's surface. "It may be that she will not be by definition a mage as you or I know them. But she is different. Extraordinary. That much I know for certain."

"She's beautiful," Aloysius replied simply.

Morrigan tutted. "You forget that Urthemiel was the Tevinter god of beauty."

"Hush, marsh witch," he scoffed, unable to tear his eyes away from the pale, heart shaped face of his daughter. "Stop blaming it on the bloody dragon and admit we're fine specimens of humanity."

"I shall concur or my part, certainly."

"Hey, you copulated with me," he shrugged, and for once Morrigan didn't have a reply.

The three of them took seats around the room, Aloysius in his armchair, Eleanor on the floor with Cusìth and Morrigan on a rather plush velvet chaise longue (which was, in truth, from Vigil's Keep, but Aloysius had rather liked the look of it and managed to send it over to Denerim unnoticed). It was at this point that Morrigan chose to strip off her abomination of a dress to reveal a characteristically inappropriate set of chasind robes underneath.

"And the world begins turning again," Aloysius rolled his wine glass between his fingers.

"Well I could hardly venture through Denerim dressed like this," she hissed.

"You always did it before."

"I did a lot of things before," she smirked.

The bitter winter air was beginning to sneak in through the cracks in the window frames, despite their umpteenth layer of plaster, and Aloysius reluctantly stretched forward to stoke the chimenea. _Andraste's flaming sword_, he thought. _A genuine family unit. This can't be right._

Mercifully Zevran arrived at that moment, breaking up the ridiculous conventionalism of the scene. After him came a bizarre odour which wafted from the slightly ajar kitchen door, a mixture of burning and whiskey and elf root.

"What on earth is that?" Morrigan wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Nothing, nothing my dear," Zevran insisted, perching gracefully on the arm of Aloysius' chair. "There was a slight mishap with the gravy but it was, of course, immediately resolved."

The elf flashed that disarming smile, the one which always left Aloysius stunned that it hadn't floored everyone in the room. He found his hand wandering involuntarily over to Zevran's hip, only barely resisting the urge to pull him onto his lap (partially for his own gratification, partially to irritate Morrigan). If the Maker did exist (which he highly doubted), Aloysius couldn't help thinking that he must have consumed a very large amount of brandy on the day he allowed him to be anyone's father.

Aloysius knew very little of children. He was the youngest in his immediate family, and although there had always been children around the estate from time to time, the only one he ever spent any significant amount of time with was Oren. But Oren was a boy, a Cousland boy, who used to play at battle and climb trees and roll around in mud. Aloysius hadn't a clue in the world about how to act with a girl, let alone one who'd spent her entire life travelling the wilderness with Morrigan. He could feel the worry lines forming on his forehead already. Should he engage in conversation with her? Could four year olds _have_ conversations?

"So… Morrigan," he smiled idiotically, giving up. "What have you two been doing? With yourselves?"

"For the last five years?" she raised a single eyebrow at him.

"Er… yes?" he ventured.

"If you don't mind me summarising somewhat, we have been travelling," she said, unable to hide that familiar tone of smugness in her voice that appeared when she was being purposefully difficult.

"That's nice," he grinned half-heartedly, determined not to stoop to her level. "whereabouts?"

Throughout the short exchange Aloysius' eyes had been constantly flicking back to Eleanor, distressed that he had no idea where to start with her.

Morrigan must have picked up on this motion and decided to condescend to mild compassion, for she turned to the child and said "Eleanor, why not tell your father where we have been travelling?"

She turned to him, arms still wrapped around Cusìth's neck, and spoke directly at him for the first time since their meeting. It was an act that filled Aloysius with painful elation.

"I was born in the mountains. Then we went to Orlais. Mother said we lived there for a while but I don't remember. Then we had a house in Tevinter. I remember that but we had to leave. Then we went to Orzymar so Mother could study lyrinum. But mostly we sleep outside. We go a lot of places," her explanation seemingly finished, she returned to lavishing attention upon Cusìth.

The childish infliction in some of her words reassured him a little. For the past five years he had harboured a secret fear that the child would be some sort of Flemeth-esque abomination. But it seemed that she was simply that; a child.

However, he was beginning to understand what Morrigan had meant when she said that Eleanor was 'extraordinary'. When he was around her he felt a certain sensation arising in him. It was not dissimilar to sensing the darkspawn taint, but instead of fear and caution he experienced a glowing warmth inside his body, as if he were in the presence of a great power. It was curious, that was certain. Those he had confided in about the ritual had expressed worries over what damage such a power could wreak, fears he had admittedly shared, but now he found his thoughts wandering to how great a thing it could be if such potential was used for noble causes. After all, Morrigan was not _completely_ morally bankrupt. There was some potential there. Maybe. Hopefully.

Deciding to steer his thoughts back to topics which required a great deal less thinking, Aloysius proposed they have lunch. It was a suggestion which Zevran responded to enthusiastically, bounding once again back into the kitchen. He had practically lived in that room for the past few months, finding cooking to be a satisfying outlet for the energy he was not spending on slaughtering nobles, an arrangement which Aloysius (who was incidentally a cook so terrible he was almost on a par with the king) was very much satisfied with.

As the day wore on and the sky grew darker over Denerim, the tension between the group subsided almost completely. The wine may have helped a little, but it seemed to Aloysius that Morrigan was beginning to remember that they had actually been very close friends when they were travelling together, and was starting to act as such. By the time night had fallen they were all in high spirits, reminiscing about their time on the road, each filling in the gaps in the memories of the others.

"I must take my leave of you for a short while," Morrigan announced when the Chantry clock struck ten, tugging on her sack-dress. "Do not worry, I am merely meeting with a contact from Orzammar to collect some texts. I assume you do not mind me leaving Eleanor in your care."

"O-of course not," Aloysius replied, surprised and touched that Morrigan would trust him so. "Be safe."

"I always am," she kissed her daughter on the cheek before leaving the apartment.

Eleanor had all but fallen asleep, lying curled up on the chaise longue with her eyes barely open, one hand absent-mindedly stroking Cusìth's ears.

"I must clean up the kitchen," Zevran announced.

"No, no, don't worry about that," Aloysius whispered. "you've done enough today. She is almost asleep anyway. Let me take care of it."

Not wishing to unnerve Eleanor too much, he placed a chaste kiss at the corner of Zevran's eye and retired to the kitchen to tackle the mounting pile of dishes. As he scrubbed the traces of fish chowder from the last of the saucepans he heard muffled noises, but assumed it was Mr. and Mrs. Upstairs continuing their earlier quarrel. However, as he stood the final plate up to dry, he realised the sounds were coming from inside their own apartment. Stepping quietly towards the living room, he opened the door a crack and peered inside.

Zevran was stood by the chaise longue, gesticulating wildly with his hands and talking in that dramatic tone of voice he reserved for regaling people with anecdotes from his adventures. Eleanor, who was now covered in a mountain of blankets, was laughing gleefully at his tale.

The corners of Aloysius' mouth pricked up as he watched them, his head leant against the doorframe. It was then that Morrigan returned, a parcel of books in her arms. She opened her mouth to speak but Aloysius motioned for her to be quiet and ushered her over. Frowning only a little as she followed him, she replaced his position by the door and Aloysius stepped back to observe her reaction.

"Hmph," she smiled. "he is good with her."

"Better than me," Aloysius said, a little sadly.

"Ah yes, but he was always better with people in general."

"Well, that's true," he conceded. "are you sure you two don't want our bed tonight? We honestly don't mind."

"Ah yes, but I do. I just dread to think what-"

"There are fleas in the living room."

"We will take our chances, thank you," she smiled thinly.

"Ah, I did not think we had an audience," Zevran noticed Aloysius and Morrigan eavesdropping in the doorway and straightened up from the battle stance he had been miming. He turned to Eleanor, who looked disappointed at the interruption "I will finish the tale tomorrow my dear. You have my word."

He sauntered over to them, looking ever so slightly pleased with himself.

"What story did you tell her?" Aloysius asked.

"Ah, I was recounting the day lovely Morrigan and I rescued you from Fort Drakon. After all, it was the only adventure we really had just the three of us, was it not?"

"Indeed it was," Morrigan nodded. She looked about to say something else, but then stopped and instead wished them goodnight, retiring to the living room and shutting the door behind her.

Aloysius smiled, more than a little thankful that they were on their own again.

"I hope you underplayed the part where I got smacked on the head with Ser Cauthrien's pommel and was dragged across Denerim like a sack of potatoes?"

"Oh, but of course," Zevran grinned wolfishly. "In my version I had you attempt a daring escape or two before we reached you. Far more impressive. Much less embarrassing."

"Oh, hush," Aloysius tried to contort his stupid beaming face into a more aloof expression and failed miserably, settling instead for brushing a lock of Zevran's hair back off his face.

"I hope you do not think I was… stealing your thunder," Zevran said quietly, pressing the curve of his cheek into Aloysius' open palm. "It was not my intention."

"Not at all. Thank you. I mean it. It was very good of you."

"I am glad you think so," the elf's eyebrows flickered upwards as he smiled.

Unwilling to tread the ten short paces to their room before delaying further, Aloysius bent down and kissed him deeply, wrapping his arms around Zevran's shoulders, pulling the smaller, lither frame tight against his own. So preoccupied had Aloysius been with the stress and anxiety of the day that he hasn't realised how much he had missed being able to do this at his leisure.

"You… ugh," Aloysius said when they finally broke apart, shaking his head. "You do know you're too incredible to coherently describe in words, don't you?"

"Yes?" Zevran frowned, as if missing something.

"Right," Aloysius laughed, pressing his lips against the base of the Antivan's neck. "Come on. Early Winterval present. _Now._"

* * *

Apologies to smut fans, I'm gonna be doing a bit of 'skip to the end...' with this one. It's not that kind of fic. Yet. Also geek snaps for anyone who gets the name Cusìth. Hope you had fun, reviews are lovely things.


	4. Chapter 4

I have to stop starting ten million projects at once.

* * *

Aloysius woke early on Winterval morning. Too early, he decided, as the sky behind the snow-spattered bedroom window was still pitch-black.

Instinctively he rolled over and groped for Zevran on the other side of the bed, but found it empty. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep but he'd already been slapped wide awake by the seemingly sub-zero temperature of the room. Muttering a string of blasphemous curses, he got up and fumbled around in the dark for some something warm to cover himself. Failing he settled for scooping up the blanket from where it lay in a heap on the bed and shrouding himself in it like a cape.

He stumbled into the hallway, following the sound of clattering pans to the kitchen. Before he went inside he paused and, turning to the door behind him, peered quietly into the living room. The slumbering figures of Morrigan and Eleanor were illuminated by the single candle still left burning, wrapped in layers of fur and blankets on the couch, their shapes rising and falling delicately with the steady breath of sleep. Aloysius smiled and closed the door softly behind him, returning to the kitchen.

There were at least half a dozen different pans bubbling away in the tiny room, and the number of makeshift heating devices laid out for the purpose was a rather worrying sight in such a flammable house. Zevran was already at the stove, adding seasoning to some unidentifiable vegetable. He was wearing a garish ensemble of red and green which would have been taxing on the eyes at any time of the day, let alone before sunrise.

"Good morning!" he cried, beaming up from the saucepans, his overwhelming cheeriness making Aloysius wince.

Aloysius shuffled over to him, squinting against the light, and rested his chin in the crook of the elf's neck.

"What are you _doing_?"

"I'm hemming a dress for the Queen of Antiva. What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Mmm, very funny. Zev, it's stupid o'clock in the morning. Come back to bed," he looped his arms around Zevran's waist, making it incredibly awkward for him to continue working.

"If you please, I'm exceedingly busy."

"I'll make it worth your while," Aloysius purred.

"No, no, I think not," Zevran laughed. "I must concentrate on sating a different appetite for today."

"Pity," Aloysius relieved his grip on the elf and pulled up one of the rickety kitchen chairs.

"Why not get dressed and make yourself useful? There is much work to do before everyone arrives."

"Ah, yes. About that," Aloysius winced. "I may have… neglected to tell Morrigan that we are to have company."

Zevran froze over the stove before slowly turning on his heel. Aloysius swallowed.

"You… didn't tell her?"

"No. No, I didn't. And now I cannot for the life of me remember why."

"We have spent fifty sovereigns repairing this house so far. How much more is it going to cost us when Morrigan burns it down, ah?" Zevran's accent became notably more pronounced, as it always did when he was angry.

"I know," Aloysius groaned. "this is really not my best moment, is it?"

"Truly," Zevran grimaced at him. "worry not, there is still time to fix this. Just, go and talk to her now. And maybe put some armour on. Just in case."

"Right-" Aloysius was interrupted by a hard knock on the front door. "Oh, Maker. This has to be a joke."

"Well, it was nice knowing you," Zevran sighed, pulling an immense goose from the oven.

Detouring first to his room to put on a shirt and breeches, Aloysius pulled open the front door warily, praying for chanters peddling Winterval sermons.

"Hey! Merry, whateveritis. Sorry we're a little early, we had to check out of the inn before schedule," Oghren barged past Aloysius into the hallway, carrying two vast and ominously clinking bags.

"Should I ask?" Aloysius directed his question at Felsi, who was left in the doorway with a stout little boy hanging off her hip and a sour look on her face.

"He got drunk and asked the innkeeper's wife if she was half-dwarven," she sighed.

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"He said that he didn't know how else she managed to grow such an impressive beard."

"Oh. Right," Aloysius choked back a laugh. "Do come in, Although I should probably tell you-"

"_Aloysius_!" the shriek was so loud that the other tenants in the building probably thought that someone was being murdered on the second floor. "_What is the meaning of this_?"

"Oops," Oghren sniggered, swaggering back into the hall. "I forgot the witch was coming."

"Morrigan, I can explain-" Aloysius half-ran into the living room, only to collide with her in the doorway.

Her eyes were like fire, and in his terror Aloysius wondered if she had been possessed by a rage demon in her sleep.

"What. Are they. Doing here?" Morrigan snarled, the gravity of her tone only slightly spoilt by the tuft of hair sticking up vertically from her head where she had slept on it.

"Did I not mention we were having guests?" Aloysius squeaked. Whatever shred of manliness he still possessed was torn away by the pitch his voice managed to reach at that moment.

"No. You did not."

"Listen, Morrigan," he sighed, overwhelmed by the depths of his own stupidity. "Please. Please don't go now. I know I should have told you but I knew you wouldn't come and… I needed you to come. Yesterday was more than I had ever hoped it would be. It's only another day. Please."

Morrigan paused, one lip curling in malice. "How many more are to join us?"

"Well, let me think," Aloysius paused, counting out the guests on his fingers.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Oh, Morrigan, come on," he whined. "You spent the best part of three years travelling with these people! What ill will it do you to spend one day with them?"

"Considering the ill it has done me to spend a day with you and your crooked paramour-"

"Leave him _out_ of this Morrigan, I mean it," Aloysius hissed. "Are you actually so arrogant that you would deny ever having enjoyed your time with us? Why is that so difficult for you to admit?"

"I…" this was perhaps only the second time Aloysius had ever seen Morrigan lost for words. It was almost unsettling, he thought, to see her lip quiver like that.

"Well?"

"I will stay," she said curtly, walking quickly back to the living room.

"Well she hasn't changed a bit," Oghren chuckled.

"Oh, shut up," Aloysius frowned. "Got any West Hill in that portable tavern of yours?"

"D'you even have to ask?"

"Splendid. You know where the glasses are. I'll be in the kitchen, try and catch me before my head's in the oven."

Felsi stopped him once Oghren had departed.

"Listen, if it's trouble for us to be here-"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Aloysius laughed. "You know you're always welcome. I know Morrigan might seem intimidating if you haven't had the immense pleasure of meeting her before but she's alright, really. Sort of. Anyway, I need you and Oghren here. What's Winterval without a dwarf passed out in the corner?"

"Thanks. I guess," Felsi smiled. "But I warn you. He tries to wrestle the goose? You get to keep him this time."

"Understood."

"How's it going with your daughter anyway?" she said quietly.

"Surprisingly well, actually. Do me a favour would you, see if you can get Kamien to play with her. I don't think she's been around children her own age much."

"Got it."

"Thank you," he nodded gratefully.

When Aloysius returned to the kitchen the heat was near-unbearable but the smell was, admittedly, magnificent.

"That sounded like it went well," Zevran said dryly.

"Yes, I was as smooth and winning as always," Aloysius sighed.

"So that is, what? Not even slightly?"

"I think I liked you better when you couldn't stop talking about the bloody goose. Maker, it's going to be a long day."

* * *

Hopefully the next instalment won't be so delayed. There's another fic I desperately want to start but I need to FOCUS on completing the others first. As always, thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

"I've had an idea."

Aloysius had managed to bear half an hour of attending to his guests before skulking back to the kitchen.

"What is it this time?" Zevran sighed.

"Well since you've been so wonderful and obliging with the cooking I was thinking that maybe I could take over for a bit and you could go and relax-"

"And mediate between the angry witch and the drunken dwarf? Nice try."

"Come on," Aloysius whined. "I had to deal with her all day yesterday. It's your turn."

"For today, you're the man of the house," Zevran shrugged. "this is your job, remember?"

"Damn. knew I should have learnt to cook."

"Bye bye," Zevran shooed Aloysius, who was suppressing the urge to go and sulk in a corner, out of the kitchen.

When he returned to the living room he was surprised and relieved to find no-one arguing or suffering from massive blood loss. In fact, the atmosphere was almost amiable; the children were amusing themselves with Cusìth, Oghren was amusing himself with a bottle of home brew, and the women were talking placidly. Aloysius couldn't imagine what they'd managed to bond over. Probably motherhood or a shared aversion to his taste in furnishings.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, unsure as to what he'd do if the answer was 'no'. Luckily everyone seemed content, and he allowed himself to exhale again.

"You got anything to eat in here? I'm so hungry I could eat a bronto," Oghren didn't bother to stifle a belch.

"Just wait for dinner will you?" Aloysius tutted. "Anyway I need you to help moving the tables. Maker knows how we're going to fit everyone in here…"

"You can't make me work. It's Winterfest!"

"Winterval."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Oghren, _help him_," Fesli glared daggers at her husband.

Reluctantly the dwarf vacated his chair and helped Aloysius to rearrange the firewood-in-waiting furniture until there was adequate seating for nine around the makeshift dinner table. Granted, they would all be at different heights and no-one would have room to move their elbows, but it would suffice.

Morrigan scowled, and Aloysius could tell that she was counting how many chairs had been laid out.

"Is the silly Orlesian coming?" she asked coolly.

"_Leliana_ will not be joining us, no," Aloysius frowned. "she and my brother are wintering in Val Royeaux this year."

"What a shame," Morrigan leaned back in her chair, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.

Aloysius returned to his seat in front of the chimenea, nestling into the soft leather as the heat from the embers warmed his face. At some point in the minutes that followed Aloysius must have dozed off, for when he next opened his eyes winter light was streaming through the windows and Oghren was poking him roughly on the arm.

"What?" Aloysius yawned.

"Your girlfriend says there's someone at the door."

"Alright, alright," Aloysius swatted him away and rose slowly to his feet. "Now, would you mind breathing in my face again? I think I've found a new way to get drunk."

"Probably," Oghren smiled proudly.

"Yes, well that wasn't actually a compliment."

"Not to you maybe."

Shaking his head, Aloysius shuffled into the hallway to answer a second hard knock on the door. When he opened it he came fact to face with a wall of chest.

"Shanedan, kadan."

"I cannot believe you actually turned up," Aloysius laughed, adjusting the angle of his neck.

"I'm struggling to believe it myself," Sten glared down at him. "I took the liberty of silencing your neighbours."

Aloysius widened his eyes in alarm.

"Do not worry. I did not harm them. I merely threatened to."

"Well. I suppose that's fine then," Aloysius smiled uneasily. "Do come in. Try and tread carefully though, the floorboards are weak enough as it is."

Morrigan's reaction to Sten's arrival was far more indifferent than Aloysius had expected, something which he decided could only be a blessing.

"There could be worse guests," she shrugged. "At least with this one there is no room for mindless chit-chat."

Sten nodded in approval and sat down on one of the free chairs, which creaked ominously under his bulk.

Returning to his armchair and blinking heavily through a sudden urge to fall asleep again, Aloysius barely noticed Eleanor's voice as it piped up from the corner.

"What are the stripes for?"

"I believe that question was directed at you, Aloysius," Morrigan sniffed when he did not respond.

"Oh- what?" Aloysius started, snapping out of his trance.

"Your imekari is speaking to you," Sten grunted.

"Sorry," he turned to face Eleanor. "what did you say?"

"What are the stripes for?" the girl ran one small hand over the faded warpaint that criss-crossed Cusìth's back.

"Well, when Cusìth fights-"

"He fights?" Eleanor's mouth fell open.

"Well, too," Sten murmured.

"He used to. He fought darkspawn with your mother and I. The stripes are called _kaddis_- they make him stronger."

Eleanor and Kamien both seemed satisfied with this explanation, gasping happily and tracing the patterns on the mabari's flank with their stubby little fingers. Aloysius glanced up at Morrigan.

"You need not look to me for approval every time you speak to her," she said wearily. "I suggest you stop worrying."

"Right. Duly noted," Aloysius smiled. Knowing Morrigan as he did, he understood that this was as close to praising his limited parenting skills as she would ever get.

Miraculously the next few hours passed without incident, in no small part due to the presence of young children and Felsi's uncanny knack for diplomacy. Regardless of this Aloysius couldn't shake the fear that something might go massively wrong at any minute. He frequently made excuses to retire to the kitchen in search of succour, only to be unceremoniously ejected by Zevran each time. After almost a decade of constant travelling, adventuring and fighting, he had forgotten how utterly terrifying the nuances of domesticity could really be. He made a mental note to spend the next Winterval in the Deep Roads to save himself the hassle.

Aloysius was not a religious man, but he said a silent prayer to the Maker when Zevran finally strolled out of the kitchen, said his hellos to everyone and positioned himself nonchalantly at Aloysius' side.

"You cannot know how glad I am you are here," Aloysius whispered.

"Oh, I believe I can." Zevran said quietly. "I'll have you know that I rushed my masterpiece to come and rescue you. If you wish me to stay I have conditions."

"Wily bastard. Very well, state your terms."

"You cannot play the 'I spared your life' card with me ever again."

"What, _never_?" Aloysius was crestfallen. That had always been his most powerful bargaining tool.

"With all due respect, si amore," Zevran purred. "that was, what? Seven, eight years ago? It was starting to lose some of its power."

"Oh, alright then. Just don't leave me alone with these people."

"Remind me again why you left the life of high command? You were so well suited for it."

"I'd ask what you two are muttering about but I probably don't wanna know," Oghren grimaced.

Fesli pinched him hard. "You're talking to our hosts you filthy shaftrat."

"Is everyone hungry?" Zevran interrupted smoothly, and was greeted with murmurs of approval from the guests.

"I'll help get the food," Aloysius said quickly. "Nat should be here any minute. Take a seat, everyone."

Punctual as always, as soon as his imminent entrance had been announced Nathaniel arrived, wrapped in furs and carrying a huge amount of luggage.

"You could have told me there wasn't a bloody stable," he panted when Aloysius answered the door. "I had to haul these all the way from the tavern."

"Ah. I didn't think of that. Sorry. Do come in," Aloysius apologised, taking some of the bags off his friend's hands.

After he had unloaded all the luggage into his bedroom Aloysius led Nathaniel into the living room, showing him to the seat between himself and Oghren. Nathaniel looked vaguely terrified when he laid eyes on Sten, but an aristocrat through and through, he nodded courteously and sat down without saying a word.

The table itself was heaving with Winterval fare, which despite Zevran's lamentation looked and smelt remarkable. It was only then that Aloysius realised how starving he was now that some of his nerves had dissipated.

"Who is this one?" Morrigan asked bluntly, peering at the latest arrival and tearing Aloysius away from more pleasant thoughts of food.

"Morrigan, this is Nathaniel Howe. Nat, I'm sure I must have mentioned Morrigan. In passing."

"Indeed you did," Nathaniel smiled thinly.

"Howe, you said?" Morrigan narrowed her eyes.

"My father was Arl Howe, if that is what you mean."

Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Aloysius. "You have befriended the son of a man who tried to kill you?"

"Hey, I tried to kill him myself, he married me," Zevran shrugged, looking up briefly from the goose he was carving.

"Just as tactful as you promised," Nathaniel muttered to Aloysius.

"I cannot apologize enough for her behaviour."

"Oh, do not worry yourself-"

It was then that another knock rang out from the corridor. The older guests all looked at one another in turn, all seemingly oblivious to who it might be. Morrigan stared icily at Aloysius, allowing just a little lightening to crackle between her fingers for effect.

"Oh, stop it. It's probably just the neighbours or something. I'll get it," Aloysius pushed his chair out and manoeuvred awkwardly through the tiny gap between Sten and the living room wall.

"Listen," Aloysius sighed as he pulled open the front door. "We've actually just started eating so I'd appreciate it if yo- Maker's breath, what are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

Nothing better than a vaguely inane cliffhanger. Sorry if I've missed typos or anything but I was wicked tired when I finished this off. Reviews are wicked, and so are you for reading.


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